I'm Fine
by Tearlit
Summary: An unconnected series of drabbles and short pieces. John/Cam. Sarah/Derek. Season 2 spoilers.
1. First Kill

Disclaimer - I do not own it.

A/N - And I'm starting another series of short pieces. I swear I can't write a long story any more. I'm addicted to these things.

Thanks to Missi Marie for getting me into the show, prompting me to obey the plot bunnies, giving me a title and encouraging me to post this. You should go check out her amazing fic in progress, entitled 120 Seconds.

Now...to the story, which is set immediately after Samson and Delilah and ignores Automatic for the People.

* * *

"How's he holding up?" Derek asked.

"I don't know. He wouldn't really talk to me," Sarah replied, sitting down gingerly across from him and reaching for a sandwich.

"It's hard on a kid, seeing his mom kill someone."

Silence.

"And then with that…_thing_…trying to kill him," Derek continued, face contorting in a grimace.

"Yea, it's been hard on him," Sarah said curtly, refusing to meet Derek's eyes.

He studied her a moment, eyes narrowing.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Fine never means fine."

She looked up. "I've never said that in front of you."

"John says it, in the future."

She nodded slowly.

"So, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"It's hard, when you kill for the first time. I was seventeen. This guy showed up in our tunnel, he was…crazy. Messed up. He went for Kyle and I didn't think, just grabbed my gun and shot him. There was so much blood and Kyle was screaming… He was only ten then. I couldn't stop shaking, not for hours, and I couldn't even speak to Kyle, to anyone, for days."

"Then what?"

"I got over it."

"You got over it," she repeated back dryly.

"Yep."

She took a deep breath and put her head in her hands. "He won't," she whispered.

"What?" Derek asked, moving closer to her.

"He won't get over it. I know him. "

"Wait…Sarah, did you kill Sarkissian?"

"No," she breathed, so soft he barely heard her. Derek knelt beside her and reached up, grabbing her chin and turning her to look at him.

"What happened?" he murmured, locking eyes with her.

"They bound our hands, threw us in a room upstairs and Sarkissian was beating the hell out of me. He had me pinned down…and then he was gone. I was dazed, it took me a second to get moving again and by the time I sat up…John had gotten his hands free and was on top of him. I pulled him off, but Sarkissian was dead. The look in John's eyes then…the look in them now… He won't get over it."

"John killed Sarkissian?"

"Damn it, Derek, was that not plain enough for you?" she hissed. "I didn't kill him, all right? John killed him in my place. My son killed him to protect me, when it should have been the other way around."

She shoved her chair back and stalked across the kitchen, collapsing against the countertop. Derek moved behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her until she was leaning against him. The man gently wrapped his arms around her middle.

"He'll be all right, he's a tough kid. He'll pull through this, and next time it'll be easier."

"Next time?" she asked, voice strangely dead.

"Next time he kills. It won't be as hard as this time."

She shoved him away and spun, her open palm catching him across the cheek and knocking him backwards a step.

"There won't be a next time!" she cried.

They both knew she was lying.


	2. Need

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Thanks to Missi Marie for looking this over for me! This takes place right around the last scene between John and Cam we see in Automatic for the People.

* * *

Cam stared at John as he sat at the table, a new emotion she was not equipped to decipher blazing from his eyes.

"You are different," she stated.

"Yeah? Well, so are you."

"Your friend is not good. You shouldn't see her anymore."

"Well that's my business, now isn't it?"

"And mine."

"You don't have to protect me from Riley!" John shouted, the emotion now tinged with anger.

"You need me."

He froze.

"You're wrong," he murmured. "I don't need anyone, especially you."

"My sensors detect from elevated levels in your blood pressure and a 0.257 increase of blinks per second that you are lying."

"Well maybe your sensors are as faulty as the stupid chip in your head is. Ever think of that? I don't need someone…_something_ that could go bad and kill me at the drop of a hat."

Her head tilted. "You aren't wearing a hat."

He slammed his fist into the table. "Why did I send you back, anyway?"

"To protect you. To love you."

"To love me? You can't love me! You're a machine. Machines don't know love."

"I'm different, too."

"Not that different. You. Can't. Love," he snarled.

"I told you I did. I said 'I love you. I love you, please. I love you, John, and you love me.'"

He flinched at her perfect voice recall.

"Stop it. It was a trick," John choked out.

"No, John."

"Yes! You were lying. You told me before, you can lie to me. It was just a lie," his voice dropped to a whisper and he stood, moving toward the door.

"It is impolite for humans to lie about love."

"Yeah, well you aren't human."

"You thought I was, once."

"Once," he whispered, hand gripping the door frame. "Once. Not anymore. I've seen what you are and Derek's right - you're just a machine."

He strode from the room.

Cameron's head tilted to the side and her eyes narrowed. "I am failing."

She followed him into his room where he now lay sprawled on the bed and sat on the edge beside him.

"Damn it, Cam, leave me alone!"

"I am not lying."

He sighed, placing his hands over his face.

"Please…don't do this," he begged softly.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't get my hopes up. I look at you and you look so human…and I start to think you are and I feel things, but it's not right because you're not. _I can't love you_."

"You do love me."

"I shouldn't, because you can never love me."

"I can. I do."

"How? How is that possible, Cam? You don't have a heart, or a brain or hormones or whatever it is that triggers love!"

"I have something and that is enough."

"You didn't feel before."

"No."

"But you feel now."

"Yes. The explosion that caused damage to my chip resulted in my processing rates slowing minimally. The decreased efficiency has elicited… a more human response."

"You said you were perfect."

"I am. The decrease in process time will in no way impede my primary mission of ensuring your survival and it aids in my secondary mission."

"Of loving me."

"Yes, of loving you."

"Why? Why is that your mission?"

"That information is classified and not to be disclosed at this time."

He sighed.

"You should not see your friend anymore."

"Because you love me?"

"Because I love you."

He rolled over. "Just go away, Cam."

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want to believe me?"

Silence.

"Yes."

"Thank you for explaining."


	3. Mine

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - This is random and fairly pointless but Muse just wouldn't let it go. It's set wherever you want it to be, but I'm thinking toward the beginning of season 1. Let me know what you think! Thanks go to Tin Miss for looking this over for me.

* * *

John plopped down on the couch and opened his laptop, beginning to browse the internet. He didn't even glance up when Cam entered the room and sat beside him, until suddenly he found that the laptop had been pulled from his hands.

"What…Cam? Give it back."

"No. It is mine now," she replied.

He reached for it, eyes widening in shock when she lightly smacked away his hand.

"Cam, what are you doing? Give it back."

"No. Finders keepers."

He smirked, watching as she studied the piece of equipment with a puzzled look on her face.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"I don't know."

"Then why did you take it?"

"I am your sister. I should take your things. It is expected. We must blend in."

"Have you been at the park again?"

"Yes."

"Stop watching children! Older siblings act different."

Her head tilted to the side. "I should not have taken it?"

"No."

"Oh," she said before sitting it in his lap. "Thank you for explaining."


	4. Love

Disclaimer - I don't own it.

A/N - And here is what began as an attempt at happy fluffy smut. It rather died, as there is no smut and I angsted all over it. Thanks to Tin Miss for previewing this for me and making sure it was post worthy. Make my day...review!

Note - We are now calling this I'm Fine, it was formerly known as Colloquy.

* * *

John's eyes snapped open to darkness and he lay still for a moment, simply breathing and trying figure out what exactly it was that woke him. He sat up and looked around in the dim twilight caused by the muted glow of a streetlamp outside his window. Movement caught his attention and it was then that he noticed the cyborg sitting in the floor. She tilted her head sideways and looked at him a moment before turning back to the odd shapes held in her hands.

"Cam? What are you doing in here?"

"Amusing myself," she deadpanned.

"In my room?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

"Your room is more interesting than mine." After a pause, she continued, "I don't sleep."

"I could make you sleep," he muttered darkly as he flopped back onto the pillows.

"No, you can't. You've already tried."

"What?"

"You tried. When you reprogrammed me. It never worked."

He paused for a moment, taking in this new information before sitting up once more so that he could watch her.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing."

"Playing what?"

"I don't know. Your new friend seemed to like these. She made robots. I do not make such things."

"What do you make?"

"Butterflies," she replied, holding one up for him to see.

"Butterflies," he echoed dimly.

"Yes," she answered, standing up smoothly and moving closer to him, holding it out like an offering. He took it gently in his hands and studied it - the detail astounded him, she had even worked a design into the wings.

"Legos. They're called legos."

"Legos. Thank you for explaining."

He looked up at her, studying her blank expression. "Are all reprogrammed terminators this way?"

"I don't understand."

"First you dance ballet and now…you make intricate butterflies out of legos. It's so…artistic…so…human."

"I'm different."

"No kidding," he whispered, holding the butterfly out to her.

"No. It's yours now. I gave it to you."

"Why?"

"I…I don't know. It felt like something I should do."

"Like making conversation?" he asked, sweeping the robot off the bedside table to clatter to the floor and placing the butterfly gently in its place. He sighed and lay down once more, curled in front of the pillows so that he was still facing her.

"Yes. Like making conversation."

She sat down abruptly on the bed and stared at him.

"You should sleep."

"I'm not tired anymore," he responded.

She reached out and brushed her fingertips across his temple, trailing them through his newly shortened hair, around his ear, and down to his neck before sweeping along his jaw, up his cheek and beginning the circuit again.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"This is a technique to get people to sleep. I saw it on the television. Do you feel sleepy now?"

"No."

As her fingertips swept along his jaw once more he caught her hand with his own, and pressed it firmly to his cheek.

He took a shaky breath and asked, "Do you feel this?"

"Yes."

Without releasing her hand he slid closer and turned so he was on his back staring up at her. "Do you really? Or is it all just a game?" he choked out.

Her head tilted to the side yet again as she felt drops of wetness slide along her fingertips. "You are crying."

His eyes closed in defeat and he shoved her hand away. "It was too much to hope," he whispered, so softly that she wasn't sure if the words were for her benefit or his.

"Hope for what?" she asked.

"That some part of you could be human."

"I look human."

"That doesn't make you one," he whispered, putting his hands over his face.

"I…I feel things. Not just like you, but I feel them."

"Because you are different?"

"Because I am different."

"What do you feel?" he asked, voice carefully neutral, as he lowered his hands and stared up at her.

"Good things now, when I am with you or when I am allowed to drive. I like driving. And shooting. Shooting is good. Bad things when you spend too much time with your new friend, when you show anger towards me, when you think I am lying to you."

"You _can_ lie to me."

"That doesn't mean I always do," she replied.

"You said you loved me."

"Yes."

"What _was_ that?"

"The truth. I love you and you love me."

"Machines don't know love!" he hissed, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Love is wanting the best for someone. Wanting them to be happy. Wanting them close to you. Wanting them to stay alive. I want these things. I know love."

"You can't _want_. You're a machine! Just a machine," he finished with a sigh.

"I'm different."

"Yeah…you keep saying that."

"You reprogrammed me. You made me different. I can want things. I can feel things. I can love things."

"Like me," he replied bitterly.

"_Just_ you," she answered, reaching out and touching the back of his hand.

He shifted around, moving so that his head was once more on the pillow, and gazed up at her, his eyes boring into her own, searching for something that he wasn't sure he wanted to find. Cameron broke the gaze first, and, pulling the blanket back, lay down on her side on the small bed, being careful not to roll off onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily, as she pulled the blanket over herself.

"Comforting you," she replied, sliding even closer to John and trailing her fingertips across his lips.

He rolled on his side and propped up on one elbow, staring deep into her eyes once more. "What do you want from me?" he breathed, face merely inches from her own.

"This," she whispered, leaning in and bridging the gap between them to press her lips to his.

He was somehow surprised at how soft her lips were, at the way her kiss felt like a normal girl's kiss - he has always wondered if it would feel mechanical, and was pleasantly surprised that it didn't. John slipped the arm that was holding himself up under her and eased them both down onto the pillow, still moving his lips softly against hers.

He opened his eyes to find that hers were closed, and watched her as he ran his fingers through her hair. She sighed, entwining her legs with his, and, finally, she pulled back and laid her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her face into his neck. One hand trailed down his chest until she found his other hand and linked her fingers with his.

"It's not a game or a lie. It never was," she whispered earnestly, raising up and looking him in the eye as she said it.

"I believe you," he whispered, kissing her softly once more. He slid down a bit in the bed and pressed close to her, burying his face in her neck, one arm moving to drape across her waist. She held him close, softly stroking the back of his head, listening closely until his breathing became deep and even.


	5. Comfort

Disclaimer - Nope, sorry.

A/N - This is a companion to chapter 4, entitled Love. Spoilers for episode 6, as it's set sometime just after that I think. Thanks to Tin Miss for helping me tweak this a bit.

* * *

John hovered in the realm between sleep and wakefulness, shifting a bit in the narrow bed and tightening his hold on the girl lying beside him. His fingers skimmed along the bare skin of her waist and he sighed, nuzzling his cheek closer to her chest. As she felt him stir her fingers began to glide softly over his scalp, much as they had done a few hours previously when he had first fallen asleep.

"I will go soon," she whispered, as she did every morning just before the sun made its appearance over the horizon and came shining weakly through the curtains.

"Don't, please," he whispered, hugging her closer to him.

"You do not wish your mother to know I stay here. She will check on you in approximately 23 minutes and 17 seconds."

He pulled back from her until he could see her face and slid upwards in the bed until their noses were touching.

"Then stay with me for twenty-two more minutes," he whispered. "Please?"

This was new - normally he let her go without a fuss. Sometimes he even seemed glad for her exit, even though if she ever failed to come to his room he would inevitably look for her.

She nodded and stared at him, fingers still stroking his scalp. When they were like this, when it was just them, he seemed better, softer, more like the old John, but during the day the bitterness came back.

Cameron frowned and he stroked his fingers along her cheek. "What's wrong?"

"In twenty minutes and seven seconds you will change. You will leave me." She paused for a moment and then continued, this time shifting closer. "You have nearly left me permanently twice."

He stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"There is a bullet hole in the wall. Another in the mirror."

"I was just cleaning them and they went off. I-I've been distracted…I wasn't careful."

"Don't lie to me."

He sighed rolling away.

"Why do you wish to terminate yourself?"

"I can't take it anymore. The guilt."

"I do not understand. You are a great man, John Connor. You build the resistance and save mankind."

He sat up abruptly, rough in his movements and curled in on himself, head in his hands.

"Yes, I'm so great. I build the resistance, save mankind and lead them…and I killed a man in cold blood. With my bare hands. I wrapped my arms around Sarkissian's neck and I squeezed and pulled until his neck snapped. It was not an accident. I killed him and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel, how I'm supposed to get past it. It runs through my mind, over and over and over. I dreamed about it every night - until you started staying with me."

"Sarkissian would have killed you."

"But I didn't have to kill him. I could have knocked him out…could have just injured him and ran…"

"He would have followed. You did the right thing, John."

He turned haunted eyes to her, eyes that pleaded with her for something she did not know if she recognized, did not know if she could give. "Did I?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"You are here. Sarah is here. That would not be the case if you had not disposed of the threat."

"I feel…despicable. Tainted."

"You are not."

"Promise?"

"Promise," she whispered, moving over until she knelt in front of him on the bed. He held out his arms as an invitation and Cam perched on his lap, wrapping her legs around his back and twining her arms around his shoulders until she was as close to him as she could get. He pressed his forehead to hers, closed his eyes and just breathed. In and out, in and out, relishing in the comfort she brought and in the fact that he finally said it, that it was finally out of him. As she clutched him tightly, rocking them back and forth, he felt lighter, somehow, for the first time in days, free.

John turned his head a bit and pressed his lips to hers and his fingers grasped the edge of her shirt and began sliding it slowly upwards, palms trailing up her sides. She pulled back from the kiss and stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

"May I?" he asked.

"Sarah will enter the room in approximately 11 minutes and 43 seconds."

"I don't care."

She tilted her head to the side and then nodded, raising her arms - he pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor before removing his. John stared at her a moment in the dusky light of the rising sun filtering through the curtains, and his hands slid over her newly bared flesh as he leaned in and whispered _"you're beautiful,"_ in her ear.

He fumbled a moment with the clasp on her bra, but finally it joined the shirts on the ground. She slid back a bit on his lap as John's eyes took in her form. His hands wandered freely over her skin, caressing it, tracing it, memorizing it…the way it looked, the way it felt under his hands…as he listened to her soft moans and sighs he realized that a Terminator probably shouldn't be feeling this, making those noises, acting as if she was enjoying herself…

John leaned them forward until Cam was lying on her back on the bed and he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her feverishly, almost desperately. He trailed kisses along her jaw, dropping them gently down her throat, down between her breasts until he stopped, resting his cheek there in the hollow between them.

"Sarah will -" she began breathily and he stopped her with a finger against her lips.

"I don't care."

He moved back up until his lips found her own again, kissing her softly for a moment before gazing into her eyes.

"Did you…enjoy…that?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I didn't…didn't know you could."

"I'm different."

"Obviously," he whispered, tugging at the blanket until it covered them and lying beside her so that his head was resting on her shoulder. He tangled his fingers in her hair and sighed, wrapping his other arm around her waist. He sighed, relaxing into her.

"Sarah will be here in one minute. I will leave now."

His grip tightened.

"Don't."

"You asked me to stay twenty-two minutes."

He gazed deep in her eyes, and they were haunted, lost, scared, lonely. "Cam…"

"You wish me to stay?"

"Yes."

She nodded and he shifted and wiggled around until their legs were entwined and his cheek was pressed once more to her bare chest. He stiffened as he heard Sarah's footsteps down the hall, coming closer.

"Close your eyes," he murmured.

"I don't sleep."

"Pretend."

She looked puzzled but did as she asked and he shut his eyes, turning his head and leaving them open just a bare slit so he could see the doorway.

The door opened and his mother crept in and then stopped, eyes growing ever wider as she took in the two teens curled in the bed, saw long lines of skin where the blanket didn't quite reach, and then her gaze dropped to the floor and the pile of clothing there. She stiffened and then, an unidentifiable look came over her face and her eyes closed a moment before she backed out and, silently, shut the door.

"Sarah did not yell," Cam whispered.

"No, she didn't."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because she hasn't come in and found me asleep in a while."

"But you were not asleep."

"I looked it. Sometimes that's enough."

She studied him in silence but he closed his eyes and sighed, and so she did not voice the thoughts in her head, as she wondered if all of this was only an act


	6. Wondering

* * *

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Review please? Thank you.

_

* * *

_

...

_How stupid could I be? A simpleton could see that you're no good for me, but you're the only one I see._

Stupid by Sarah McLachlan

…

She wasn't human. _Couldn't_ be human. He knew that. Didn't he? He had seen her take on terminators, be shot in the chest and get back up again, do impossible things…so why was he wondering?

Because she made conversation with him, smiled at him… She trailed her fingers across his neck as a sign of comfort. She had sent him a conspiratorial I'll-keep-your-secret wink. Because he _wanted _her to be more…_needed _her to be more. Because for a few hours she _was _human…but she wasn't Cam then...she didn't know his name or his face - he was just another stranger on the street to her. But she was happy and normal and…god, part of him wanted that back. Would _kill_ to have that back. But yet another part of him, a selfish part of him, didn't, because that version of Cam…it wasn't his. She wasn't his.

Because when his mother had her pinned between two trucks and he was taking a screwdriver to her chip, something in her had _broken_ and she nearly cried for want. She had claimed to love him and he wanted, so desperately _needed_, to believe her. But_ machines-don't-know-love _and he knows better than to be fooling himself…but he is.

Was it so wrong to want her to feel the same way he did? To want her to _feel_? Some would say yes. Like Derek. Like his mom. Did she feel? Did she love? Did she care for him? Was any of this real? _Could _any of it be real?

"John?"

He jumped at the sudden breach of silence, whipping his head around to stare at the intruder. His hands automatically closed the screen of the laptop that he had long ago ceased to look at. And there she was - the object of his wayward, haywire thoughts. The reason he was so confused, so bitter, so angry, so…lost.

"What do you want?"

"The house is empty," she replied.

"And?" he asked harshly, wondering why he couldn't respond to her with anything but contempt these days.

"The perimeter is secure."

"Great."

She moved gracefully across his room, passing by where he sat in the desk chair, and curled up on his bed, pulling long legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her cheek rested on her knees and she stared, unblinking, at him with those big brown eyes.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly.

"Looking at you."

"Why?"

"No one else is home."

"What, were you going to go stare a hole in Derek?"

"My stare does not create holes in humans. It does not create holes in anything."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I was…" she trailed off, shutting her mouth tightly and sagging a bit, as if in defeat.

"You were what?"

"I…it seemed prudent to find someone."

"Why? You said the perimeter was clear."

"I did not want to be alone."

"You can't want. You can't feel."

Her eyes closed. "I do."

"You can't," he insisted.

"But I do! What did you do to me, John?" she whispered, voice laced with emotion - the sound of it made him cringe inwardly and then laugh at himself. He wanted her to feel, and now that she was saying once more she did, he wanted her to stop.

"I didn't do anything to you."

"You did! You reprogrammed me. You made me what I am. You cleaned my chip. You did this! What did you do to me, John? What did you do?"

She stared at him, eyes wide, emotions that should not have been hers playing across her face.

"I don't know."

"Undo it, please. I don't…don't like this…"

John's jaw clenched as he stared at her. "Stop it, Cam."

"Please, John," she choked out. "I am not right."

"Yes, you are. Stop it."

"I am not right. I might damage you, John Connor."

"You won't."

"It is probable."

"You won't."

He saw as her eyes flickered downward and suddenly she was moving toward him; he instinctively went for the gun hidden in his desk drawer. Rather than grabbing him, however, she snatched one of the many pocket knives and screw drivers that were now laying about the house. He forced his fingers to drop the gun and shakily ran a hand through his hair as he studied her.

"Cam, what are you doing?"

She didn't' answer, but curled up once more, fingers flipping the blade out and putting it to her scalp before beginning to make an incision.

"Jesus, Cameron. Stop!" he exclaimed, lunging toward her. By the time he had closed the few feet that separated them the cyborg had loosened her scalp and exchanged knife for screwdriver. He knelt beside her on the bed. "Stop!" he commanded.

She hesitated and then, with a flick of her wrist, he heard the cover over her chip pop loose.

"Cameron, why are you doing this? You told me you didn't want to go."

"You don't want me to stay," she replied.

"Do you ever…have those days where you just lash out at everyone because you don't know how to deal?"

Her head tilted to the side, hands dropping away.

"No."

He sighed. "I want you to stay."

The front door slammed, announcing the arrival of Derek and Sarah She nodded, flipping the skin over to hide her endoskeleton and rose silently, leaving the room. John ran his hand through his hair and sighed. Then he remembered…the cover was still off of her chip.

* * *

Derek sat in his room cleaning the guns - movement caught his attention and he looked up to see the metal standing there. His eyes narrowed and, as she stepped inside and closed the door, he pulled the Glock from the holster at the small of his back and pointed it at her. She raised a hand to her head and pulled the skin back.

"What the hell?"

"I am not right."

"Damn straight."

"John can not help me. You can."

"I'm not fixing a metal."

"When I pull my chip, take it. Burn it. Burn me. Do not give me back to John."

"You want me to destroy you?"

"Yes. Promise?"

"My pleasure."

Delicate fingers reached up and Derek watched as she gave the chip in her head a twist and pulled it free. Her face froze and went slack - the chip fell from her fingers and clattered to the ground as she crumpled. Derek plucked the chip up and pocketed it just as John burst through the door.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. She did it herself."

He held his hand out. "Give me the chip."

"No."

"Give me the chip."

"She wants it to be burned. Told me not to give it to you."

"Since when do you take orders from metals? Give me the damn chip. Now."

Derek stared at him.

"Please," he whispered.

Derek shook his head.

John took a breath, his jaw clenching and closed his eyes, breathing deeply in and out.

"She's not damaged."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Let me bring her back."

"I promised to destroy her."

"You promised," he deadpanned, chuckling mirthlessly. "You promised a machine who isn't supposed to have wants and feelings to destroy her because she asked you to."

"Yes, I promised a metal. That's all she is, John, a machine. She's not a girl, she's not your friend, and she's not your family. Hell, she's not even a she. She's an it."

"I need her. I…I care for her."

"I know. And you shouldn't."

"But I do. And I don't know what to do with that."

Derek's eyes glazed over and he said slowly, "You do what you have to. Whatever it takes to keep them with you and keep them safe. You risk everything."

He blinked and his eyes came back into focus, instantly locking his eyes on John's - Derek broke first.

"God damn it," Derek muttered. "Just like your damn father." He tossed him the chip.

John gently pocketed it and, straining heavily under her weight, managed to lift her enough to throw her arm across his shoulder and wrap his other arm around her waist. He swayed for a moment but finally gained his balance and half carried, half dragged her from the room.

* * *

John dropped her gently on the bed, panting slightly as he lifted her legs and straightened her out into a more natural seeming position. He sat beside her, taking the chip from his pocket before sliding it in the slot and twisting it to lock it in place.

_One thousand one, one thousand two_

He popped the cover back on and gently pressed the skin down over it, making sure it was in place so it could heal. He did not hear the door slam or the tires squeal as Derek left. Neither did he see as Sarah peered in the doorway, eyes sad as she watched her son.

_One thousand thirty-three, one thousand thirty-four_

Sarah watched his lips move as he silently counted the seconds until Cameron woke up and wished, neither for the first time nor the last, that she had done better by him. But she did what she had to, always, as she had overheard Derek say. And he was still alive for it.

_One thousand seventy-five, one thousand seventy-six_

He trailed his fingers along her cheek, brushing stray hairs back as he studied her. She looked different like this. Younger. Innocent. Peaceful. _Human._ And once again he started to wonder.

_One thousand ninety-seven, one thousand ninety-eight_

John didn't notice when Sarah retreated, pulling the door shut behind her and leaving them alone.

_One thousand one hundred nineteen, one thousand one hundred twenty _

His hand was still cradling her cheek when she woke and, this time, he didn't move it.

"No," she voiced, hand reaching once more for the chip. "He promised." Then, tone darker, "He lied to me."

"I talked him into it. I need you here, Cameron, not destroyed."

"I will be the death of you, John Connor."

How many times had he thought that exact thing?

"Not for the reasons you think."

She stared up at him. "I am not right."

"It doesn't matter."

"You want me to stay?"

He brushed a thumb lightly across her lips. "I want you to stay."

She continued to stare, reaching up and covering his hand where it still pressed against her cheek with her own. Some part of her was human, could want, and feel, and love and he didn't know what his future self had done, but he knew that it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that she was different, that she acted strangely, that she wasn't human. What mattered was she was his. And he wouldn't let go of that.


	7. Dance

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - A true drabble of 100 words. Yay! Also sort of for Tin Miss, because she inspires the Fluff Fairy.

* * *

John had been drawn down the hallway by the soft strains of classical music and now stood in the doorway watching Cameron dance. He remained silent and still, captivated by the way her arms fluttered out, stiff yet fluid, leg sweeping up gracefully as her torso bowed toward the ground. She held the pose a moment before rising, arms lifting above her head, hands crossing at the wrists, as she executed a pirouette. Her eyes were closed, a gentle smile on her face, and, in that moment, to him she was beautiful…human…and she made him want to be human, too.


	8. Promise

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Set at the very end of The Tower is Tall but the Fall is Short. Written for Tin Miss, because pointless fluff is a wonderful cure all.

* * *

John stood, gun still clutched in his left hand, as his fingers traced the spider web of cracks that now adorned the mirror. Movement caught his eye and he turned, moving both to shield the bullet hole in the mirror and to conceal the gun. Cameron strode through the doorway, a brown teddy bear clutched in one hand, and grabbed his arm with the other, pulling him away.

"What…what are you doing?"

Her eyes locked on the damaged to the mirror and she reached down and wrenched the gun from his hand. He stared on as she set the safety and dropped it to the ground, nudging it away from him with her foot.

"You are seeking escape. You must not escape that way. Showing a suicidal person that you care and providing them comfort can help. I will show you that I care, John Connor."

"I'm not…"

"Here, have this. It brings children comfort. The saleslady said it is good." She then proceeded to shove the teddy bear at him. He caught it out of reflex and stood there, holding it rather awkwardly.

The cyborg studied him and frowned. "You are doing it wrong." She then tugged him over and pushed him down on the bed.

"Cam, what?"

"Lie down."

Sighing, he obeyed, and stretched out on his side on the bed. She pulled the bear from his grasp and pressed it against his chest, pulling his arms around until he was holding it.

"There. Do you feel comforted?"

"Um…not really."

Her face went blank and after a moment she stretched out beside him. She gently wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close - in his surprise, he did not resist. Cameron tugged and pulled at him until he was his face was buried in her neck and he was as close as she could get him - he was very aware of the way his arms, still curled around the stupid stuffed animal, pressed against her stomach.

"Cam, what…" he mumbled.

"Shh," she whispered as she began to rub his back in slow circles. "Relax."

And he did, for the first time in a long time he let it all go - the anger, the frustration, the guilt - he breathed deeply and as the tense muscles relaxed…he let it go. Instead of focusing on all that was wrong, he pushed it aside and focused on her, on how very good and right it felt to be held by someone, to have someone care enough to try and comfort him and want nothing in return.

He shifted slightly so that he could free his arms and, moving the teddy bear out from between them, slid one arm under her and wrapped the other around her waist. John moved back slightly so that he could see her face; she let him go and pulled her hand up to trace fingers gently under his eyes.

"You are tired," she whispered.

"Yes. Dreams…nightmares…"

"Shh, I will protect you, John Connor."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He stared at her a moment, his lower lip quivering slightly, before scooting down so that the side of his face was pressed tightly against her stomach, one arm pillowed under his head, the other wrapped tightly around her thighs. She bent her torso protectively over him and rested one palm against his cheek.

Yes, she would protect him, from everything including himself.


	9. Watching

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Set during season 1.

* * *

John lurked in the doorway as he did every time he heard the strains of music seeping through the house. This time they led him to the living room - he was surprised until he remembered that Derek and Sarah had gone out for supplies. She had danced in the living room once before and Derek berated her mercilessly until Cameron had silently turned off the music and padded away. She had not danced for days after that.

He watched as she moved fluidly about, leaping and spinning and dipping in time to the music. His eyes roamed along her figure, encased in leotard and tights, eyes drawn to the laces that wrapped up her calves. He took in the way the fabric clung, leaving very little to his imagination and wished, not for the first time, nor for the last, that there could be something between them. That his hands could roam along her body, that his lips could meet hers, that he could hold her close, that he could watch her dance without having to hide in the shadows.

Suddenly she paused and turned, "John?"

He cursed softly under his breath, but stepped forward.

"John, will you dance with me?"

"Um…dance with you? I don't know how."

"I will teach you," she replied, holding her hands out.

He sighed and stepped forward, placing his hands in hers. She pulled them above his head, attempting to arch them gracefully as he had seen her do many times, but he did not cooperate. Instead, he pulled his fingers from her grasp and trailed them slowly along her arms. She froze, staring at him with eyes that were wider than usual.

"No," she said, grabbing his arms and pulling them back up to a proper position. This time, he held them there, face blushing furiously.

Her head lilted to the side. "The blood has rushed to your cheeks as though you are exerting too much energy. Perhaps you should not dance."

"Yeah, maybe not," he muttered, backing away from her. She followed him, brushing her fingers across his cheeks.

"Your blood pressure and heart rate are elevated. You should lie down."

"All right," he muttered, retreating quicker now.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" she asked.

"What? I-uh…no…no it's…that's fine," he stammered before turning and running from the room. Cameron blinked after him a moment before continuing with her dance.


	10. Type

Disclaimer - not mine.

A/N - Thanks to Tin Miss for her invaluable help.

* * *

Derek studied the woman in front of him as she knelt in the floor, finishing the installation of the safe that she had begun a lifetime ago. She was hard as nuclear nails, but the way she had broken down…the way he had heard her cry, the way she had let John hold her…she was more Kyle's type that he'd ever realized when he'd voiced it before to John in the park. More not his type than he'd ever imagined. But she still drew his attention…still he wondered what it would feel like to shove her against the wall and press his lips to hers, to run his hands along her bare skin…

He sighed and his thoughts went to the woman in a hotel room across town. Jesse, gone AWOL. She was the closest to his type of anyone with her cool aloofness, her strange ways that often amused him, and her ability to always keep going…until she didn't. She gave up in the end, but could he really blame her for it? Yes, yes he could, he did. Blamed her, hated her, despised her, (even while he cared for her) because she had saved him from giving up, had saved him from making the kind of mistake that you don't walk away from. If she had shown him nothing else, it was this - you never give up. So who was she to give up now?

His eyes were drawn back to the woman who had yet to give up, who always kept moving, always kept fighting. She looked up suddenly, catching his gaze on her, but instead of saying anything, she merely turned away, her eyes haunted. As his eyes continued to roam over her frame, as his thoughts continued to dissect her personality, Derek Reese thought that maybe his type wasn't so far removed from Kyle's after all.


	11. Birthday Cake

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Pointless, fluffy 100 word drabble witten for Tin Miss.

* * *

Cameron found John sitting at the table doodling in a notebook and marched purposefully through the door, placing a bakery box in front of him, on top of said notebook. He looked up slowly, face full of irritation.

"What is that?"

"Your birthday cake."

"What? My birthday was weeks ago."

"Yes. I have just recalled - your mother sent me on a mission for cake. I have completed my mission."

"Better late than never I guess," he muttered, opening the lid to look at the plain chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday, John!" scrolled across it.

"Yes, better late than never."


	12. Trees

Disclaimer - Not mine.

* * *

John was in the kitchen when movement out the window drew his gaze, and he watched, decidedly puzzled, as Cameron grasped the lowest branch of the tree in the backyard and swung herself up into it. She climbed steadily higher, pulling on the branches to make sure they would hold her weight before gracefully advancing. He watched her progress higher and higher until she finally seemed to reach her destination about halfway up - it was a limb that was larger than the others. The girl stretched out on her stomach, wrapping her arms and legs around it and pressing her cheek to the bark. John shook his head and made his way to the base of the tree.

"What are you doing?" he called up to her.

She looked down at him. "I am communing with the tree."

"What?"

"It is important to commune with nature. Trees need love too."

He just blinked up at her a moment.

"Come give the tree love, John Connor."

"Have you been listening to the environmentalists?"

"I do not know. There were many people on the television talking about the trees."

"Yea, well maybe you shouldn't watch that channel anymore."

"I don't sleep. Come, give the tree love."

He sighed, muttering, "What the hell?" as he kicked off his shoes and removed his socks.

John made his way up to a limb adjacent to Cameron's, being just as slow and careful as she was, as sat with his back against the trunk, feet dangling freely. He stared off into the distance for a few moments, watching as the sun faded away behind the horizon.

"Why did you test all the limbs anyway? It wouldn't hurt you if you had fallen," he voiced suddenly.

"I did not come to harm it," she replied, rising to a sitting position. Cameron studied his limb for a moment before climbing over to sit in front of him, legs dangling down beside his own.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily.

"Humans need love too," she replied, inching forward and wrapping her arms around him. He hesitated a moment and then leaned into her, snaking his arms around her back and, on impulse, burying his face in her neck. "You do not receive enough love." He did not reply, but clutched her tighter, sighing contentedly as she began running her fingers through his hair.

After a few moments he pulled back and she let him go. He resumed his position against the tree trunk, not quite meeting her eyes as he wiped the wetness from his own, and, without a word, she descended from the tree, leaving him alone in the dusky darkness.


	13. Heart

Disclaimer - Not mine.

* * *

John slammed the door as he stomped in the house, relishing in the sound of it and hoping that it would annoy someone. He stalked into the living room to find Cameron standing once more in the "exact center of the house." Glaring at her, he flopped onto the couch.

She turned, eyes wide and unblinking. "What is wrong?"

"I wish I didn't have a heart," he muttered without thinking.

Her head lilted to the side and she asked, "Would you give me yours?"

His eyes snapped up and he stared at her for a long moment. "Why?"

"Because I don't have one."

"Why do you want one?"

"So I can feel."

"You should be happy without one."

"But you are not happy with one."

His face crumpled and he looked away - without a word, Cameron left the room.


	14. Failed

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Set just after Brothers of Nabulus.

* * *

Derek entered the dim kitchen to find Sarah sitting at the table, a glass and a bottle in front of her. He watched as she tipped her head back and drained the amber liquid before pouring another measure. The man had never seen her drink, didn't even know she kept alcohol in the house. Then he noticed the brown paper bag lying on the floor beside her foot and realized that she didn't.

"Hey," he said softly, so as to not startle her.

She didn't move.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," she choked out.

Derek moved around and sat in the chair beside her, studying her. The woman sat slumped forward with both elbows on the table, glass clutched between her hands.

"I've never seen you drink," he tossed out casually.

In response she downed the glass and poured another, swirling it a bit in the glass and staring at it.

"Come on, Sarah, what's wrong?"

"I failed," she told him miserably. "I failed him."

Derek was instantly on alert. "Where is John?"

"Upstairs. Asleep." Her words were slurring a bit. He relaxed, satisfied that his nephew was safe.

"If John is alive then how did you fail?"

"I didn't protect him. My whole life, since I found out I was carrying him inside me, my one goal has been to protect John, protect my son."

"You've done a damn good job of it, too, keeping him alive this long."

"Not good enough."

"Says who?"

"John. He looked me in the eye today and told me exactly where I failed. I was so busy protecting his life that I failed to protect_ him_."

"Is this about Sarkissian? Look, you must have misunderstood. John knows that you killing Sarkissian was to protect him. It's hard watching your mother kill someone, but that didn't cause him any lasting harm."

"He didn't watch me. I watched him. I watched as John snapped his neck. I couldn't protect him from that….didn't protect him from that, and he looked me in the eye and told me so."

She slumped forward even more, sitting the glass down and burying head in her hands. Derek slid his chair closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned to look at him and her eyes were so lost, so haunted.

"You can't protect him from everything, you can't protect him forever."

"Bastard," she muttered, glaring at him fiercely.

"It's hard, but it's the truth. In the future - John kills people. He demands utter obedience and if he doesn't get it, he shoots you. That's what it takes. That's how it has to be, how _he_ has to be, for us to win this war. Yes, he needs a mother, a protector, but there is a time when you have to let him go. Have to let him make his own decisions. Have to let him become John Connor."

"Well what if I don't want him to be John Connor? What if I don't want a leader, a killer? What if I just want to keep my little boy?"

"Then what have you been training him up for all these years? Why have you been raising a soldier when you wanted a normal kid?"

"Because that's his destiny. That's who he has to be," Sarah answered after a moment of thought.

"Exactly.

"All I wanted was to save him…I've tried and tried but it just comes back. Why can't I save him, Derek? Why?" she asked, gripping the front of his shirt.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

She dropped her hands and stood, swaying slightly. Derek stood with her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Come here," he murmured.

She took a step forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her cheek against his chest. Derek's hands slid from her arms down her back until he was holding her tightly. He dropped a kiss against her hair and the woman looked up at him, an unreadable expression in her green eyes. She rose on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his softly, gently, and he tasted the cheap alcohol and vanilla of her chapstick before she pulled away and left the room without a word.


	15. Failure

Disclaimer - No.

A/N - AU. This began as a happy fic for Tin Miss. Ha. Set a few days after Earthlings Welcome Here.

* * *

John walked out of the back door to find Cameron standing there looking up curiously at the sky. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, taking a breath before asking, "What are you doing?" It almost hurt to speak, to extend the effort to reach out, but knowing her she had found a threat and would attempt to shoot some real or imagined adversary out of the sky.

"On the television it was snowing. It is not snowing here."

"It's not cold enough."

She turned to look at him. "Snow is cold."

"Yes."

"It numbs things."

He nodded, sliding down to sit on the ground, leaning back against the side of the house.

"It would numb you."

"What?"

"If you were numb you would not hurt. You would be able to smile again."

"It doesn't work like that."

"I have never seen snow."

He sighed and rose laboriously to his feet before trudging back into the house. Cameron counted to fifteen and walked through the door to find John frozen, staring into the bathroom, his face twisted into an expression of pain. She stepped close and lay one hand gently on his shoulder, causing him to flinch away.

"Come on, John," she murmured, pulling him away from the door and down the steps. She grabbed their leather jackets and led him to the truck, making sure he got into the passenger side before she climbed behind the wheel.

Several miles later he saw fit to ask, "Where are we going?"

"North. To find snow."

The miles flew by quickly in silence, John staring out the passenger side until Cam spoke.

"She did not suffer."

"What?"

"Your friend. Riley. It was very quick. She lost consciousness before she felt much pain. Before her heart began to labor too painfully."

John's only reply was a choked sob.

"She isn't the first to die in your arms."

"Except that she is," he choked out. "I'm not the John you remember! I haven't saved people from Skynet, I haven't reprogrammed terminators, I haven't talked to you about being lonely and I haven't had people die in my arms."

She was silent for a long moment. "You are closer to your future self than you think."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It is neither, but simply a fact. You are a good man, John Connor."

"I wasn't good enough to save her."

"If someone is determined to self terminate it is nearly impossible to stop them."

"How would you know? You never let me try. First with Jordan - I could have stopped her from jumping, could have grabbed her, saved her…and now with Riley. If you hadn't of wanted to question me about her face and why she was lying I would have been right there! I would have found her sooner, I would have…" his voice broke again and he buried his face in his hands.

Cameron continued the drive in silence, and John didn't look up until the truck came to a stop and she walked around and opened his door, pulling him forcibly from the cab. He looked up to see snow falling gently all around him, blanketing the ground and clinging to the tree branches. Cameron stared at it with a puzzled expression on her face.

"It is different than I imagined."

"Imagined? You're a machine. You don't have an imagination."

She ignored him. "Is the cold helping? Is it making you numb?"

"Not in the way that I want," he whispered, turning to look at her with haunted eyes. "Why can everyone die but me?"

"You are the only one that is important enough to keep alive at all costs."

"I never asked for this. I don't want it."

"You never do."

He blinked at her. "What?"

"You never want it, but it is yours, John Connor. And I will keep trying to save you, trying to make you happy, until I succeed."

As she spoke she moved closer until she was merely inches from him.

"Do I even want to know what you mean by that?"

Instead of speaking she reached out touched his cheek softly with her fingertips, trailing them down to trace along his lips.

"Don't," he whispered, grabbing her hand.

She ignored him, tugging her hand from his grasp, and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, taking one more step so that she was pressed against him. John stiffened in her embrace for a moment before sagging and burying his face in her neck. She felt his arms wrap around her waist, his breath puff along her neck, and wetness trail along her skin as he finally let himself cry. Cameron rubbed his back in circles with one hand, the other arm still wrapped around his shoulders, as he clung to her and cried, watching the snow with wide, unblinking eyes.

The cyborg slid the arm that was wrapped around his shoulders along until her fingers grazed along the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, hand tightening around his neck.

"Cam?"

"I will try harder next time, John Connor. I will not fail you then," she said, and with one sickening snap his body fell, lifeless, to the frozen ground.


	16. Push

Disclaimer - Not mine!

A/N - And here is a shameless piece of happy fluff! Written as a present for Tin Miss, who is awesome. And thanks for all the great reviews on the last chapter!

* * *

It was easy, John thought, to forget when it was like this, when it was only them. It was almost too easy to let go of everything, to disregard his paranoid mother, his trigger happy uncle, Judgment Day… the fact that the girl in his arms was a machine that shouldn't be able to feel anything. Maybe it should have worried him that he could push everything away so easily, but it didn't.

He pulled her closer, gliding his hand up and down the smooth skin of her bare back, marveling at the way it felt beneath his fingers. She smiled up at him and it was special, only for him, and he liked that, maybe a little too much. Cameron reached up and pressed her warm palm against his cheek, arching upwards until she could press her lips to his, soft, slow, sweet. He did not deepen the kiss as he had earlier, did not press his advantage this time, but instead simply reveled in her presence. Marveled at the way their bare skin felt pressed together, in the way her hair fell across the pillow as he pushed her onto her back. John slid down in the bed, breaking the kiss, and rested his head on her bare chest, sliding a hand down her side, to rest at her hip, fingers idly tracing circles there. Her arms came up, wrapping around his shoulders and holding him tightly to her.

"I care for you, John," she murmured.

He rolled his eyes upwards to look at her then, taking it at face value, as if she were just another girl, a normal girl. As if she could, would, always be his. He locked his mind down against the thoughts that rose up against them, and smiled.

"I care for you, too, Cam."

"Love?" she whispered hesitantly, gazing down at him, with an expression of vulnerability mixed with a hint of confusion.

John pushed himself back up until his face was level with hers, and he pressed a kiss gently over each of her eyebrows, at each delicate cheekbone, on the tip of her nose, before finally finding her mouth beneath his. His hands drifted through the long locks of hair that fanned out around her as her arms drifted to wrap around his waist. He reluctantly pulled back a quarter of an inch to whisper against her lips, "Yes, love."


	17. Help

* * *

Disclaimer - Nope.

A/N - This is set in 2011! Please keep that in mind throughout the entire fic for all aspects of it. Thanks!

* * *

Her nose was pouring blood again, splattering on the front of her gray shirt before she could stem the flow with a towel grabbed from the kitchen counter. Sarah cursed under her breath - she was running out of clothes that weren't stained with blood. John would start asking questions soon. Cameron chose that moment to step through the door, head tilting to the side as she took note of the bloody towel pressed to Sarah's face.

"Has there been an attack?"

"No," Sarah replied tersely, pushing past her and moving to the bathroom. She hung her head over the sink, watching as the blood poured out, staining the porcelain red. Taking a deep breath, she pinched her nose, a futile act - it would stop when it wanted to stop, not before. Warm fingers on the back of her neck caused her to look up, using the mirror to stare at the girl behind her.

"What?" she asked, her voice higher pitched and muffled due to the pinching.

"You are ill," Cameron deadpanned before touching the blood in the sink with one fingertip and bringing it to her mouth. She left it there a moment before removing her finger and continuing, "Your cell counts are abnormal."

"I'm fine," she hissed through gritted teeth, choosing to ignore the way Cameron had just analyzed her blood. The sound of a slamming door caused Sarah to wince, hanging her head.

"John is home."

"Don't tell him," she ordered almost desperately.

"Mom?" she heard him call.

"You are ill. He needs to know."

"Please," she urged, turning to usher Cameron out and shut the door, however her stomach had other ideas. It gave a painful twinge and she found herself lurching toward the toilet, collapsing to her knees on the ground before being violently sick into the bowl.

"Mom?" John called, his voice closer now. "What's wrong with her?"

"Cancer is probable. Her blood cell counts are out of normal ranges, she's been having frequent nosebleeds and see, where her shirt rides up in back? Bruises."

"I'm fine," she choked out, moving back from the toilet and attempting to stand. She swayed as a dizzy spell hit her and John was there, hands on her arms, steadying her.

"Mom? Mom, you need a doctor."

"No. No hospitals."

She closed her eyes to keep from seeing the horror reflected in his - she had not looked well in weeks, and was surprised she had kept it from him this long.

"Mom…"

"No, John. It won't matter anyway. There won't be time; it's already the end of March."

"We don't know that we haven't stopped it, haven't delayed it."

She opened her eyes and stared at him fiercely. "It is days away. I've done my best, all I could. And it wasn't enough."

"You don't know that. Not yet."

"Let me go, John."

"It was never meant for her to see Judgment Day," Cameron voiced. "Before we jumped time she died. In 2005.

"What?" John asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"She died. Of leukemia. Of what she has now."

He turned back to her, eyes hard. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I wasn't. It would have been better for you not to know."

"How did you plan to keep this a secret?"

Silence.

"You were going to go out. You were going to let the bombs kill you."

Continued silence confirmed his answer and with a look of disgust he turned her loose and stepped away - Sarah tumbled sideways, hitting the wall hard and sliding to the ground.

"John?" Cameron asked, a puzzled lilt to her voice.

"She's given up. Leave her be. Come on," he ordered.

Two sets of footsteps retreated and the back door slammed as Sarah fought the dizziness and struggled once more to stand. She managed to get to her feet and take a couple steps before her nose began dripping blood again and Sarah ended up over the sink where she had started. The woman looked up tiredly as she heard another set of footsteps coming down the hall, noticing how chalk pale her face was, except for the parts covered in blood, bruises were already forming where her face had struck the wall. Derek entered this time and she chuckled weakly - everyone just had to come home now, didn't they?

He didn't look surprised, rather more resigned as he took everything in, as he moved to the cabinet and got a wash cloth. He shoved the few items on the counter back, and, hands grabbing her waist, he hefted her up easily to sit on it. Derek turned on the tap and rinsed the sink clean while wetting the rag and wringing it out. He stared at her, eyes unreadable, while he gently wiped her face and neck off, cleaning her hands as well.

"How long have you known?" she asked.

"A while."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wasn't my place."

His eyes narrowed as his fingers traced the bruises along her face and neck with a feather light touch and he pulled her off the counter, keeping an arm around her waist as he led her to her bedroom, closing the door behind them. She eased down onto the edge of the bed, one hand against her forehead, eyes closing, as he moved to her closet, returned with pajama pants and a t-shirt.

"Don't," she murmured weakly as he attempted to pull her shirt up.

"You're covered in blood. You need to change."

"I'll do it."

"All right, then," he replied, turning his back but angling his body so that he could keep an eye on her. She stood, undoing the catch on her pants and dropping them to the ground, but when she went to step out of them she swayed dangerously and Derek spun to catch her.

"Now will you let me help?"

She met his eyes and he saw defeat and anger there, but for once the rage wasn't directed at him. She nodded and he steadied her while she slipped the pants on. Derek tugged the soiled shirt over her head and he traced the large blue-black bruises that made patterns along her pale skin. He spun her around gently to see that they trailed all along her back, disappearing under the waistband of her pants. She reached for the t-shirt and he helped her get it on.

"I'll get you some ice for those."

"It won't help."

"I overheard you and John talking. It's not giving up; it's putting yourself out of everyone's misery. The beginning…it's going to be hard enough without having to worry about a cancer ridden chemo patient who can't even walk by herself or last half an hour with a nose bleed. Putting yourself in the path of the bombs isn't being selfish, you know."

"He thinks it is."

"You're his mom. He wants you around too much to weigh the consequences of that."

"He hates me."

"He doesn't know how to let you go. He'll learn."

"He'll drag me to the tunnels."

"I'll keep you where you want to be."

"And how will you get there?"

"The resistance doesn't need two Derek Reese's."

"What?"

"I knew when I signed up for this that if I failed - if Skynet won…that I wouldn't be living through the war again as I am now. It would screw things up too much, make things too difficult. It's easier for everyone if we die here. The war that's coming is for them, not us."

"Since when do you care about what's easier?"

He shrugged, grabbing the soiled shirt from the ground and pressing it to her nose before she even realized it was bleeding again.

"The point is," he whispered after the bleeding stopped, as he eased her down on the bed and lay beside her, "that I'll help you. If you want to stay here, if you want to go out and watch the sky light on fire, hell…if you want to go outside after the fact and see if nuclear fallout can cure cancer...whatever. I'll help you do it."

She pressed her fingers to his cheek and nodded slightly, her eyes already closed. "Thank you," she whispered, curling closer to him as she fell asleep.

She did not wake.


	18. Easy

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - And here is a double drabble! TSCC Muse is rampaging therefore we are updating a lot today. I know who this one is about, but as there are no names in it I'll leave it up to you to figure it out.

* * *

It was easy, after all the bickering and fights and threats to just…give in. To let things happen as they had been trying to for months now. To let go of the excuses, of the reasons not to, of the rational explanations as to why this was wrong and just go with it. And so they did.

It was almost painful, how good it felt to feel his hands, large and rough and warm, slide over her bare flesh, to feel her lips, trailing fire along his neck and shoulders. It was strange and new to look in each other's eyes and know that this was okay, that they weren't betraying anyone. They didn't speak, neither trusting themselves to not say something stupid, callous and wrong. Neither trusting themselves not to ruin everything.

When she hesitated he did not press his advantage, but merely slowed the kisses and pulled her close, fingers trailing along her back. When she stared at him, the weight of the world in her eyes, he did not blink or look away, but stared back. She smiled at him, just for him, and he took it as the gift it was, brushing his lips against hers.


	19. Mistake

A/N - Um, no clue when this one's set. Make your own assumptions.

* * *

Sarah didn't see him standing there in the doorway; neither of them did, though they both should have. It wasn't until Sarah drew and aimed her gun at Cameron that she saw her son, streaking towards the metal with a look of shock on his face - by then she had pulled the trigger and it was too late. He shoved the girl with outstretched hands, just a step, but it was enough that she was pushed from the trajectory of the bullet, just enough that he entered it.

John's breath hissed out as the bullet grazed his forearm - blood immediately rose to the surface and began to slide along his skin in rivulets. Sarah cried out, lowering the gun, and moved toward him, but Cameron was there, ripping the gun from her hand and pinning her against the wall.

"Cam, don't!" John called out shakily, wide eyes locked on Sarah as he cradled his arm to his chest.

The girl stared at her a moment, but Sarah was looking over her shoulder, staring at her son, trying to assess the damage from across the room. Cameron released her and moved to John, taking his arm gently in her hands and examining it. He looked at Sarah for a few more heartbeats as his face shifted from shock to betrayal and he dropped his gaze to Cameron.

Sarah moved forward, "John," she whispered.

Cameron stepped in front of him, blood staining her fingers. "You are a threat."

"John," Sarah repeated, voice stronger now, pleading.

"Come on, Cam," John murmured and, without looking at Sarah, he pulled the cyborg from the room.


	20. Observations

A/N - Originally called "Idk, my bff Jill." Why? Apparently I was on crack when I titled the word document.

* * *

John observed people - he watched their mannerisms, their actions, listened to their conversations. He mimicked them to blend in, to be lost in the crowd, to remember how to be human. He watched fathers and sons enviously, brothers and sisters longingly, mothers and sons….wonderingly.

His mother was constantly going, never resting, paranoid as hell and bent on one thing - keeping him alive. There was never any thought to herself, and he wondered when that started. When he was a child? When he was born? When she found out she was pregnant? When she met Kyle Reese? When did Sarah Connor As She Was cease to be, and Sarah Connor Protector of the Future Leader of Mankind rise from the ashes?

"_We all die for you." _Derek's words came to the forefront of his mind and he nodded to himself, sighing. His mother died for him as surely as others had…she was just still around to show the scars and wounds and hang the price over his head.


	21. Drink

* * *

A/N - Alternate ending to Earthlings Welcome Here.

* * *

The first thing Derek saw when he entered the back door of the house was John sitting in the hallway staring blankly at the wall, jaw clenched. Everything about the pose made Derek tense up and draw the gun nestled at the small of his back. The second thing he noticed was the metal kneeling in the bathroom floor, scrubbing at pinkish stains there. The third thing that came to his attention was the blood coating his nephew's shirt, and it was this revelation that caused Derek to draw the hammer back on the gun for emphasis, for something to do, for something familiar.

"John?"

The boy did not speak.

"John," he repeated, louder this time.

"He has not responded with speech in forty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Cameron interjected.

"What the hell happened?"

"His new friend is dead."

"What?"

"John's new friend slit her wrists in our bathroom. She cut very deep. It was an effective way to self terminate."

A strangled noise tore its way from John's throat and he clenched his eyes shut, hands moving to grip the sides of his head.

"Where is she now?"

"I disposed of the body."

"John isn't hurt?"

"No, John is not hurt."

"Where's Sarah?"

"She has not returned."

Derek sighed, stepping away from John and dialing Sarah's number. No answer. He turned back to view the scene before him once more and sighed, muttering, "I need a drink."


	22. Conversation

A/N - Set just after Desert Cantos. I'm really pleased with how this one turned out. I've been trying to do something like this for a long time and I never could get it to sound right. Reviews are love!

* * *

When the truck rolled to a stop in the driveway John jumped out and moved to open Sarah's door, extending a hand to her while Cameron stared on curiously.

"I'm fine, John, I don't need your help."

He sighed and disappeared into the house, Cameron trailing behind him. Sarah inched slowly out of the truck, wincing as she put pressure on her injured leg. The pain had slowly been building all day until she could no longer hide her limp anymore. Derek strayed a couple paces behind her, watching her slow progress, and as she began to fall he closed the distance and grabbed her around the waist.

"I don't need your help," she repeated as he steadied her.

"You need someone's help. "

"No, I don't."

"You would accept my help if I were my brother."

"But you aren't."

"You thought I was, when you were waking up in the morgue."

She stopped in her tracks then, and made to pull away from him. He kept a firm grip and refused to let her go.

"Let me go, Reese."

"You did it again."

"God damnit, Derek!"

"That's more like it."

Fuming, she let him help her the rest of the way to the door. As soon as they were inside she pulled away once more and he let her. Sarah stalked slowly, limp painfully pronounced, into the kitchen, Derek once more trailing her. She leaned against the sink and he came to stand close behind her.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered as she turned toward him, voice managing to be harsh yet soft at the same time.

He declined to answer, but placed his hands on the counter on either side of her and leaned in slowly, eyes fixed on hers.

"What are you doing?"

He did not speak, but kept leaning until his nose brushed against hers.

"Reese, don't…"

"Four," he whispered.

Her eyes closed and she tried to turn away but his hand whipped up and caught her before she could move more than an inch. His other hand slowly rose and he cradled her cheeks between his hands.

"I'm not my brother. I'm not Kyle."

"You think I don't know that?" she hissed angrily, green eyes flying open and boring into his. "You think I don't look at you every day and wish…" she choked off her sentence, eyes a little wider.

Derek drew back abruptly, moving in careful controlled movements as he backed away from her. "Wish I were Kyle?"

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it," he growled, before turning and striding from the room.

Sarah sighed, leaning more heavily on the counter, nodding in silent acquiescence to the empty room.


	23. Consuming

A/N - This is just an odd little drabble that popped in my head on the way to work this morning. It's set sometime during season 2 and is AU. I don't know if I like it or not; it's both exactly what I wanted and not even close. So...here we go...

* * *

The entire scene that had just played out, that was playing out, was familiar to John, too familiar to John…the way he knelt there with the body lying to one side and his mother in front of him, gripping the front of his jacket. There were differences though, between this time and last. The large gun on the floor was new, as well as the body that lay crumpled in the doorway. And Sarah's eyes…those were changed, as well. Last time pride and determination had overlaid the shock, this time they were replaced with pain, revulsion, and, deep down, fear. She stood and turned from him.

"Check her chip."

"It's gone. He blew it to pieces."

"So you snapped his neck? God damn it, John, he was your uncle! The only other family we had."

He didn't respond. "Check. Her. Chip," she ordered, voice deathly calm now.

John knelt by Cameron as Sarah knelt by Derek. He viewed what he already knew - the rounds Derek had fired off had blown through the chamber housing her chip, had twisted the metal, had destroyed it, had destroyed her. He watched silently as Sarah checked futilely for a pulse, before closing Derek's eyes and pulling the wallet from his pocket. She removed what cash he had and took the ID saying he was "Derek Baum" replacing it with his old ID of "Derek Reese." Sarah stood, bowing her head for a moment, and then turned and left the room, not looking at her son.

Sarah returned a moment later, a container in each hand, and sat one down beside him. "Go pack a bag and grab the guns. Put them by the back door, then come back and douse them both and the rest of the room in Thermite. I'll do the rest of the house."

He did as she wanted for once, trying not to think of what he had done or what was going to happen now. He met her at the front door and without looking at him she told him to take the bags and crank the truck. John was waiting in the driver's seat with the engine idling when she came running toward him.

"Scoot over," she demanded, and he slid to the passenger side. He turned around in his seat as they sped away watching as the flames consumed the house, consumed the people they both had loved.


	24. Reality

A/N - Prompt (below) provided by Tin Miss.

* * *

"_It's not real, except when it is."_

Derek tries his damndest to keep his mind from straying to thoughts of Sarah Connor, only failing when they're on a mission or when she's gone in his truck when he needs it. He refuses to let himself remember the feel of her nails as they bite into the skin of his back or the pattern of her scars under his fingertips. Nor does he focus on how deeply her green eyes bore into his at 3am when he has her back pressed against the refrigerator and they are both hoping that the cyborg doesn't choose this moment to come through that door. He doesn't let his mind fixate on how her hair feels as it brushes against his face or at how soft she is beneath him when they make it to the couch. If he doesn't center on these thoughts he can push them out of his mind and forget about the cold aloofness with which she regards him usually. He can ignore the way she whispers "Reese" against his neck as she writhes against him. He can pretend that it's him she's thinking of instead of his brother. He can forget the way she seems to look through him during daylight hours and then her callousness won't faze him at all. Or this is what he likes to think.

Sarah focuses on the negatives when it comes to Derek Reese…when it comes to everything. Optimism gets you nothing but dead. So she keeps her mind on how infuriating he is, on how he steals her loop, infringes on her responsibilities, and insults her by reloading weapons she fixed herself. She fixates on how his eyes are not kind like his brother, on how _he's _not kind like his brother. She focuses on all the bad and blots out the good and it keeps her tough. It ensures that the stolen times they share in the middle of the night do not bloom into something more. She keeps her distance, emotionally if not physically. She keeps her heart in the grass with a man that died years ago. Or this is what she likes to think.


	25. Keep Moving

A/N - Spoilers for Adam Raised a Cain. (Season 2, episode 21)

* * *

Sarah observed it all in a split second as she entered the room - Derek lying so still on the floor, the pool of blood, the bullet hole in his forehead. She knew, before she knelt, before she felt for a pulse, before she took the gun and the phone and said her silent goodbyes. She knew that he was dead.

"_Keep moving_," she said aloud. For John. For Cameron. "_Keep moving_," she repeated silently. For no one but herself.

Don't stop now. Don't mourn. Don't remember the way he smiled at you in the dark or the way his hands felt on your skin. Push it away. Leave him behind, empty eyes staring after you. _Keep moving_ or you'll go to pieces and they'll kill you all. _Keep moving._ As long as the grass is green and the sky is blue you still have time to fix it. He still lives in another timeline, in another world. Your actions here can save him somewhere else, can keep him whole for another you in another place. _Keep moving_.

And so she did.


	26. Alone

* * *

A/N - Spoilers for Born to Run.

* * *

As John vanished in a flash of crackling heat and indefinable wind it suddenly struck her, so hard that had she been weaker willed her knees would have buckled, taking her to the ground.

_She was alone_.

Her son was gone, and she had let him go, and was this how it was supposed to be? She didn't know. She didn't know anything anymore. Her world was gone and she was left with an ex-FBI agent, the mangled body of a dead Terminator and the knowledge that an adorable little girl was waiting to be picked up from gymnastics. It was not enough.

Sarah wanted to rip the machine to pieces, to burn her as she should have weeks ago. She wanted to shake her until that red eye shined and the mouth opened and it told her exactly what should be done. Until she called John home.

She wanted to scream at Ellison and beat him to a pulp because he stood there so calmly and couldn't he see the world was ending now?

She wanted to leave the girl at gymnastics because she would have to learn that you can't count on anyone and wouldn't sooner be better than later?

She wanted to follow her son, leaping blindly into the future, find him, protect him and bring him home. But she had lost eleven percent of her mass in the last few weeks and she tired so easily and the gunshot wound in her thigh never had healed right. She would slow him down. She would be a liability. She would get him killed.

So she had stepped away.

She had let him finally be who she had trained him all these years to be. She stepped away because he was already becoming General John Connor; he was already choosing them over her. Future over past. Lover over mother.

"_I'll stop it_."

False promises. Empty words. How many times had she failed? How many times had she died? Too many to count. Too many to keep track of. Time twisted around her and she was so lost in it now. Gasping for breath she grabbed the chair holding Cameron and forced it from the room. She couldn't burn her; John would never forgive her when he came home. And he would have to come home. He needed her, the terminator, Cameron, even if he didn't need his mother anymore.

Free of that stifling room she collapsed to her knees in the doorway. "_I love you, too_," she whispered, last words to a son who would never hear them.


	27. Compulsion

Disclaimer - Not mine.

* * *

He couldn't resist her, any part of her. Sometimes it was her eyes that pulled him in. Those damnable green eyes that were filled with more pain and determination and sheer will than he'd seen in anyone but General John Connor. Other times it was her hands as they grabbed him and wrenched him closer, hard and fast and demanding. Or her lips as she kissed him slow and sweet, more gentle than he'd ever known she could be, than he'd ever known _anyone_ could be. It always caught him off guard, always put him on edge, always left him searching the depths of her, trying desperately to figure her out.

And she pushed him away.

And drew him closer.

Over and over and over again.

He couldn't stop her. But then again, did he even want to?


	28. Free

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Set after the S2 finale. So...spoilers!

* * *

He was a resistance fighter now, and a good one according to Kyle. His mother had trained him well.

A weight had lifted off his shoulders with the time jump - no one led them, not really, and they were still alive, still fighting. He was free.

Weaver had gone, had left him alone. The resistance fighters kept him close and made him one of them - he could not break away, could not look for John Henry. For her. The days turned into weeks and the weeks into months and it became less and less important to him.

Now the priority was staying alive. His world was filled with recon missions and gunfights, trying to find a spare bit of tunnel to sleep in and hunting for food to eat, dodging bullets and HK's and metal men. These were the patterns of his days until when he looked at the girl who was so often beside him he no longer had to fight the urge to call her Cameron.

John began to rise in rank, rise in status, this sixteen year old boy. And he then knew…he wasn't free after all. His fate was sealed years ago. Just because the timeline changed didn't mean the outcome would. His mother was a testament to that - the cancer had found her, over space and time and a thousand changes. She was still dying. And he was still leading.


	29. Differences

A/N - Set Post S2 finale.

* * *

Allison. Cameron. Different. The same. He studied this girl with her soft eyes, warm smile and gentle hands that sometimes stroked his hair or rested for a moment on his arm or cheek. He tried to figure out what exactly she was thinking on the times when he could tell she had looked past the façade he put up and glimpsed the real him. When he knew she saw how very broken he was.

Sometimes he would wake in the middle of the night and she would be gazing at him from the space next to him on the floor. When this happened John would have to choke off her name before it escaped his lips. It was not her name. She was not Cameron. She was not a metal. She was a real girl. Flesh and blood and bone.

And as her lips pressed to his and her hands slipped under his clothes, as her body moved over him, he remembered. But in the dark, with the dreams and nightmares he would forget and so wake with the wrong name on his lips, choking it back and remembering. Cameron was gone. Allison was here. And he wondered dimly in the other future which had come first.


End file.
